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  Starting from the far end he started working his way up one of the empty aisles.

  His associate was climbing down a ladder to a lower passageway. He paused a moment, checking the schematic in his head before eventually turning to his right. Then it was down a long corridor, up another ladder and straight ahead.

  Once he encountered two workers heading toward him. In a single smooth motion he slipped the gun inside the open duffle bag. They smiled at him as they passed and he returned the smile. The smile, vanishing as soon as they did, was replaced by the reappearance of the gun, tidy, compact, devoid of shine: The finish was purposely dull to keep it from reflecting light.

  The man turned another corner, gripping the metal firmly. Like any craftsman he took care of his tools. No one else confronted him as he entered the Admin living quarters.

  He began to move more carefully, especially when he turned up a certain corridor. No one emerged from behind any of the closed doors lining the corridor but he paid close attention to each of them all the same. Most of his attention was reserved for a door on his right, growing nearer with each step.

  Flattening himself against the corridor wall he studied the door. The lockseal was on. Reaching into a jacket pocket he removed a tiny disc the size of a thumbnail. Crouching low he moved forward and touched the under side of the disc to the lockseal slit. There was no sound and the red warning light remained lit.

  The man took a slow, deep breath and then swung his left leg around in a vicious kick. The door flew open and he shoved the muzzle of his gun inside. There was no reaction from beyond.

  He edged around the opening, his finger tense on the trigger, and swept the apartment interior. Then he walked in, checked the computer station behind the couch, the chairs, even the corners of the ceilings to make certain nothing was hiding suspended in the shadows.

  Cautiously he approached the door leading to O'Niel's bedroom, kicked it open. O'Niel was not present. He did the same with bathroom, then rechecked the apartment and lastly the closets.

  He was disappointed. Shrugging, he turned and started for the next checkpoint.

  O'Niel entered the worker's cafeteria. It was off-time for both staffs, at least an hour to the next meal. There was no one in sight.

  The tables were clean and bare, the chairs empty and stacked on the tabletops. He'd never been in a completely empty cafeteria before. There was an eerie quality to it, as though the shades of the workers who ate there were hanging around after meals, swapping noncorporeal jokes in inaudible whispers.

  He started through the tables, heading for the back exit. His attention was on the sealed door there.

  There was an ear-busting roar and a bright flash of orange that momentarily blinded him. The ceiling seemed to explode. Semi-automatic rounds of tracers fried the air around him as he went down and rolled, sparks flying from the ranked tables as the tracers and nonincendiary rounds screeched off their metal surfaces.

  Silhouetted against the slits of light from the gridwork that formed the ceiling was the man with the gun. He was looking toward the floor, trying to track the rolling, twisting O'Niel while firing through an open lighting port.

  O'Niel swung the riot gun around and blindly blazed away at the ceiling as he continued his mad tumble across the floor. He barely made it back to the front corridor ahead of the tracers that shattered behind him

  The Greenhouse was a good place to catch your breath. It boasted the freshest, sweetest-smelling air on lo. Rows of hydroponic platforms held burgeoning racks of fresh vegetables and fruits that flourished beneath long fluorescent tubes that put out consistent controlled wavelengths and continuously circulating, nutrient-heavy water that swirled around their roots.

  Jupiter was a glowing threat in the sky above the glass dome. The distant star called Sol barely reached here and did not figure in the growing process. Automatics monitored the concentration of nutrients in the water, the burn time of the fluorescents, and even managed the pruning and cleanup.

  They did not react to O'Niel's arrival. Checking the vast open space and seeing no hint of movement, he waited there, catching his wind.

  A hand adjusted the monitors in the squad room. They showed O'Niel inside the Greenhouse. Others revealed the locations of the two gunmen. The hand moved away, left the screens burning. There was no one present in the squad room to see the main door close quietly.

  O'Niel studied the open expanse of green and glass again. His gaze went upward, to the maintenance catwalk that ran through the branches of the fruit trees.

  Turning, he opened a panel and traced cicuitry until he found the switch he wanted. With a touch, the Greenhouse was plunged into darkness. The only light came from tiny tubes set into the floor gridwork.

  He fumbled his way toward the ladder leading upward and started for the catwalk. As he reached up to grab the walkway railing the metal erupted in flame. The air hailed tracers and sparks showered off the tormented metal.

  Blood spurted from his shoulder. He fell, the riot gun going one way, he another. Somehow he managed to spin, but instead of landing on his head he fell on the damaged shoulder, let out an involuntary grunt of pain.

  Then he was up, holding his bleeding arm as he ran for the accessway.

  In the darkness behind him a figure muttered angrily to itself. It loaded a fresh magazine into the squat weapon it held and swept the black dome with the starlight scope. Plants and floor showed up clearly in the lens, but this time there was nothing moving.

  The man sighed, upset with his failure. He'd hurried the shot, promised himself firmly that he wouldn't make that mistake again. Dropping silently from the branches of the apple tree he'd been concealed in he loped off in pursuit of his bleeding quarry.

  Gasping, O'Niel stumbled down the corridor. Repeated glances showed that it was still deserted behind him. It wouldn't stay that way for long. His shoulder was on fire.

  He passed through a connecting hatchway and turned down yet another corridor. Still no shells whined through the air around him. He still had a chance.

  There was the place in the wall. He touched the hidden buttons, waited. The panel swung open and he reached gratefully inside.

  The backup gun he'd so carefully prepared wasn't there.

  The instant of panic passed quickly, overwhelmed by the rush of time. He could die wondering what had happened to the other riot gun. Still holding his shoulder and fighting for breath he staggered on down the corridor.

  It led him to a major junction. He stood in the center, blood trickling down his arm, trying to decide which way to run.

  One of the hatch covers on his left started to whirr. There was someone on the other side, someone wanting in. He looked around desperately, but he was in the wrong place from which to make a quick escape.

  No matter which corridor he chose he could only be halfway down it by the time whoever was on the other side of the opening hatch entered the junction. Every corridor was straight. He'd make an easy target in any of them.

  All he could do was flatten himself against the wall next to the hatchway and hope that whoever it was behind it would be so anxious to run him down he wouldn't think to check behind him. He didn't hold out much hope for that. His hunters had already demonstrated their skill. But it was all he could think of to do.

  The seals opened and the hatchcover swung outward. O'Niel readied himself for the inevitable, raised his good arm to strike at the man's neck as quickly as possible.

  He stopped, in mid-swing as the figure jumped fearfully out of the way. It was Lazarus.

  "Jesus, O'Niel! Take it easy."

  He stared dumbfoundedly at her, his own desperation temporarily forgotten. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "I'm a schmuck," she informed him. "I went to your office to see if I could help. I saw you on the surveillance screens. You ran out so fast you forgot to turn them off." She nodded back the way he'd come.

  "You were headed right for one of, them, you know."

 
; He fingered his burning shoulder. "You're kidding me."

  She didn't reply, cocked her head to one side as she gave the wound a cursory examination.

  "You look in terrific shape. It looks messy but they missed the artery. I'll stop the bleeding."

  "How? I ran into the other one in the cafeteria. If he's working in tandem with the one in the Greenhouse, that would put him between us and the infirmary."

  "Boy, are you indoctrinated. You think I'm helpless without my machines? This way."

  She led him into the male worker's dormitory. They checked the aisles cautiously but the huge room was still empty. Lazarus went to an open bunk, cut part of a pillowcase, and began binding up his shoulder.

  His attention was still on the front entrance, where they'd entered. "Did you see where they were heading? I'm just guessing. They should be planning to link up."

  She spoke while concentrating on the bandage. "I think they were going for the operation wing. They're trying to cut you off from your office."

  He nodded thoughtfully. "That's sensible, since they know now I'm not waiting for them there. Once they cut me off they'll start trying to back me into some nice empty section, like Hydroponics. Almost got me there once already." He paused, looked down at her.

  "Start sealing off the accessways in the East Quadrant. I've got to get around them before they have a chance to catch me in a crossfire somewhere without witnesses."

  "You really think types like that give a shit about witnesses, O'Niel?"

  "If it came down to it they'd blow me away in the middle of the Club, but if they have a chance to do it unobserved, yeah, they'll work for it. Guys like that take pride in doing a clean job."

  "How are you going to get around them? I watched them both on the monitors. They're checking everything down to the cracks in the floors."

  "By going Outside."

  The first gunman was taking his time. He was still anxious to be over with it, but he'd already rushed himself once and had no intention of doing so again. Patience was harder, but safer.

  Besides, judging by the trail of blood O'Niel was leaving behind there was no need to rush.

  Lazarus, continuing to work on the Marshal's injured shoulder, finished securing the bandage with a flourish. O'Niel inspected the result, moved the arm. It still hurt, but the pain no longer blinded him.

  "Thanks."

  "Don't misconstrue this," she warned him, looking anxiously toward the locker room entrance. "I'm not displaying character. Just temporary insanity."

  Something made a noise at the end of the corridor leading toward the dormitory. O'Niel jumped up from the bunk. Lazarus froze.

  Someone was coming down the corridor toward them. They could hear the footsteps on the metal floor. Of course, it might only be a worker trying to get an early start on his shift, but that was unlikely.

  O'Niel gestured and Lazarus followed him. They made their way past the darkened bunks, down one of the met walkways into the assembly area. They waited there, hardly daring to breathe, until the footsteps and a hesitant shadow had passed on overhead.

  O'Niel leaned down to Lazarus' level and kept his eyes on the top of the stairwell as he whispered to her. "I'm going Outside. Seal the doors like I told you to and get the hell out of this."

  He moved to his right, studied the ranks of empty environment suits before selecting one approximating his size. Lazarus stood nearby, watching him.

  O'Niel looked back at her and his voice rose slightly. "Go on."

  "I can still help here," she whispered back.

  The suit had been designed to be put on slowly and carefully. O'Niel struggled hastily into it. "Shit. Don't argue with me."

  She was persistent. "I can help."

  He stopped what he was doing, stared at her for a long moment. "All right. The access corridor between Buildings B and C."

  She nodded understandingly. O'Niel finished donning the suit and hurried to the elevator airlock. As he waited for it he looked back toward her, seemed about to say something.

  "Don't get maudlin," she warned him.

  He didn't reply, turned away to face the rising elevator. The doors opened and he stepped in, sealing it behind him. The lift started upward with a soft whine.

  Footsteps sounded on the level above. Lazarus flattened herself against the wall as the shadow passed over her a second time.

  The elevator slowed, stopped as the lights for LEVEL ONE flashed on above the door. O'Niel pressed himself tight against the interior wall as the lift door slid aside, but the platform outside was empty.

  He left the lift, moved carefully to the railing, and peered over the side. He was out of the range of artificial gravity and had to watch his stride lest he go soaring over the edge.

  Mine scaffolding vanished down into the black depths of the crater, a descending framework of bright lights and steel. Building C was on his left and he started toward it, climbing up the exterior gridwork. The light gravity made it possible for him to float upward.

  From the roof he could see the entire mine complex; the crater walls, the multiple buildings, even the shuttle dock. Jupiter filled the sky above the forest of lights and lacy gridwork. He forced himself not to look upward, assured his mind that Jupiter was not about to fall and crush him like a gnat. It was hard. He wasn't used to working Outside.

  Moving lithely along the roof he came to the far side of the structure, looked down. A strand of plastic and metal linked Building C with Building B. The accessway was translucent and lit from within. O'Niel started inching his way down the side of the building toward it.

  The first gunman was making his way slowly down yet another empty aisle. He passed close to Lazarus, who backed through the shower room toward the rear entrance. She didn't make a sound.

  The hunter's senses were unusually acute, however. Even the soft brush of shoe against floor brought him up short. He held his breath, listening, the gun, ready to swing in any direction.

  Lazarus moved her foot again to make sure that he'd heard her, then broke for the access hatchway. She opened it, hurried into the corridor beyond, and opened the next hatch.

  The gunman swept the light-gathering sight across the area, found nothing. That's when Lazarus chose to shut the hatch cover. She made certain it closed noisily.

  It didn't provoke the gunman. He turned to look toward the source of the sound. Using the sight first he made his way through the shower area, then into the corridor.

  Lazarus was running toward the far end of the accessway. She opened the hatch there, forced herself to stand and wait, her heart beating too fast.

  O'Niel continued to make his way down the side of Building C. Only the light gravity made the awkward descent possible. Fortunately he didn't suffer from vertigo or even the gentle climb might have paralyzed him. There was a sheer drop of hundreds of feet only inches away.

  He reached the edge of the roof, jumped carefully and landed on the top of the accessway linking the two major structures. For a second he almost overbalanced, but caught himself and started forward. Metal bands encircled the corridor, marking the places where the prefabricated sections of the tube were joined together.

  Then he turned to look back toward Building C, and waited . . .

  XII

  When the gunman entered the accessway the first thing he saw was the figure at the far end. It was distant and indistinct, but it reacted to his appearance by frantically swinging wide the hatchcover at the far end. The man reacted in turn, touched the light trigger.

  Lazarus jumped through the opening the moment she saw the gunman appear, closing the hatch just as he fired. Tracers rattled like wasps off the metal, only slightly louder than the pounding of her heart.

  The noise didn't reach O'Niel, crouching above on the top of the accessway, but he saw the subdued sparkle of the tracers. Cursing the clumsy pressurized suit he started to loosen the emergency bolts that held the two sections of corridor together.

  The gunman had started down the
accessway, and he was frowning inwardly. The figure which had fled from him seemed too small to be the Marshal. But it had reacted to him on sight. That implied some kind of connection with his designated target. Possibly the Marshal was with the smaller person and had preceded him through the hatch.

  In that case the chase would end soon. What troubled the gunman was that he'd been assured the Marshal would have no help. He didn't like surprises. Not that it would make any difference in the end—an amateur ally or two wouldn't save O'Niel

  As to the problem of explaining two or more deaths instead of one, well, that wasn't his department. His wasn't the expository end of the business.

  Two more, O'Niel thought nervously. Just another pair. He could see the silhouette of the gunman moving toward him in the corridor below. He'd better not look up, better concentrate on Lazarus. There was no way O'Niel could retreat to the safety of Building C in time if the gunman noticed him working above. He wouldn't be stupid enough to blaze away through the ceiling of the accessway, but a single small caliber shot wouldn't pose much risk and it could finish O'Niel.

  Lazarus sealed the far hatch. Seconds later the alert hunter thought he saw something moving overhead. His frown deepened. At first he thought it might be the shuttle, but it was still too early for it to depart. No way it could have finished on-loading so soon.

  Then he thought it must be some maintenance worker busy at some routine task. Except . . . there wasn't anything to maintain Outside. An accessway carried no live conduits or piping—it was just a tunnel between structures. What could the man be working on?

  His gaze traveled to the far hatchway, now tightly sealed ahead of him, then back to the similarly closed barrier he'd just traversed. There was no way he could reach either hatch and open it in time.